ALL KNOWN EDIE SEDGWICK LYRICS AND HAIKUS
(on one page in alphabetical order by first name)
Thinking about a baby/working on a baby. Let’s go get a baby. A black baby.
To all those in the orphanage---the sad and sick AIDS-having kids: How to make a rainbow tribe? Get ingredients yellow, black, brown, and white. To all those in the orphanage---but mainly for the cute ones in the orphanage: Diverse persons in rainbow tribe united by paparazzi light. Pickaninny Annies and Olivers---I’ll take one of him and all of her. Engage grandiosity: organize a bourgeois lottery. Condescend to say “who.” Condescend to say “when.”
If 9 seems too much, how about 10? The line between good works, publicity. From genocide and coup d’etat to Evian and Malomar---Communist youth squad career, or the hills of Hollyweird? It’s a matter of luck---what they want, what you’ve got. No more WTO---1st World identity. Your only means of escape. My only means of escape.
A vacancy emigrates. My only means of escape.
Things are getting sinister and sinisterer. I am getting nervouser and nervouserer.
Goddamn! Can’t these MFer’s see the abbreviation runs HIV, the relevant # is the cell count “T,” I’m looking for something more than AZT, what’s plain to see and what it means is killing me. What I’m looking for ain’t no PCP, ain’t no LSD, ain’t no THC, aint blood type AB, is a felony, is in them BVD’s, goes AC/DC, is a PYT. Cause I’m not regulated by FCC or registered under the SEC because I’m not a corporate entity and I got a little problem with authority and I don’t recognize the NYPD and I don’t recognize the LAPD. Just give me a little bit of fraternity---especially when accompanied by sodomy. Ask me about polyamory but don’t frame it like it’s pathology or a practice that’s devoid of dignity. I’m dying faster than them Sunni. I’m bored by simple things like ABC and 1-2-3 but I’m coming at you here like AT & T and I’m not a caricature of my disease.
BAMBI/GEORGE W. BUSH
Learning to be human again by learning to be subhuman again.
Learning to be Messianic again by learning to be archaic again.
Learning to live your whole life again by learning to sharpen your knives again.
Learning to be reflexive again by learning to be reflective again.
We’re gonna grab those big bucks young, show them what we want, smear the sweat and blood across those lats, and glutes, and quads, theorize and debate, compose, contemplate, explain the meaning of the things that we mean, campaign and elect, stand up and erect a little something that I call “Democracy!” “Racism!” “Facism!" We’re gonna establish professorships, sail in airtight ships, brave the icebergs and avoid the fates of Titanic and Potemkin. Those big bucks are organic. Those big bucks move fast and quick. Those big bucks use antlers to protect the forests, does, and fawns. They’re gonna drink from muddy streams. They’re gonna show us what we mean. They’re gonna say, “We’re the bucks you talk about when you talk about big bucks!” We’re gonna thin the thinning herd. They’ll never show us what they learned. They’re gonna brave the winters and dodge the bullets of the legislative. They support judiciary. They neglect fiduciary. They’re gonna say, “If this is your executive, this isn’t my executive!
A swell-y belly.
K.F.'s seed bears fruit.
Crash: tepid, racist.
I hear Crash won Best Picture!
My ass presented
Get me a pizza!
Can't order "in character."
Method actor's blues.
EDIE SEDGWICK II
You open my mirror eyes---the ones that reflect inside.
You open my mirror eyes and every unreflected dies.
What process is behind this blank? What method makes this white on white? Dead islands behind your favorite mirror. The multitudes you reflect tonight. An eye where a heart should be in all the glossy magazines. If seeing’s believing, then believing is seeing. Invisible archways frame transparent ceilings. What plastic lies beneath this mask? What empty logic of beautiful zeros? Clear water filling a clear glass. Clear architecture between yes and no. Silver mind and slip-on skin. Conflation of the “real-pretend.” Herald a new photographic queenmaking. Herald a useless, purposeful undertaking. What idea gives birth to no idea? What action results in inaction? You, the Beginning and the End. You, the Breaker of the saving Bread.
The sun: piss yellow.
Ed Norton kissed Courtney Love.
A freezing night falls.
An eyebrow tango.
Low humor for belly laughs.
A cloud o'er the moon.
Five pizzas ripen on vines.
Oooooooh. Taste Rocky Road.
Goldie Hawn---she spawned.
Bang yr head to blues guitar.
I like the Black Crowes.
KEN BURNS THE CIVIL WAR
The beards fight the beards.
A nation is divided.
United by style.
MARCH OF THE PENGUINS
Like Antarctic birds, I have endured, and Antarctic birds, they know for sure---Antarctic birds can endure.
We have thought a thought of “eggs.” Those are the things that we call “eggs.” The things that we call “wings” mature from the ideas that we call “eggs.” Those “eggs” that live a life they live a life we choose to call “a bird.” Those “birds” that fly they fly ideas of flight. The prospect of progeny fuels the pursuit of progeny. The promise of fertility fuels genetic destiny. The idea that’s life’s idea makes the death we call “a bird.” A “bird” will “fly,” a “bird” won’t “fly. ”A “bird,” a “life,” bird unconcerned.
A lesson in being thin: don’t eat, then repeat.
A lesson in being a stick: no meals today, waste away.
A lesson in being oneself: deny the tedious Geminis.
A lesson in being me: a famished lesson indeed.
A lesson in control: I need more of it. These dimples have too long concealed a seething vitriol. You’ll soon realize what’s behind these anime eyes. Close my mouth! Sew my guts! Attack Dave Coulier! In a dream today, I destroyed the confines of a crib. In a dream today, I shed 50 lbs. of baby fat. I’ll fight and fuck my way out of the Tanner universe. No food, no weight---no breasts, no waist---prove I’m no Siamese. Good goddamn my stomach is a culprit. Great goddamn the media’s a culprit. Good goddamn the cocaine is a culprit, but great goddamn the cocaine is a comfort! Good goddamn the tweenies are a culprit, but great goddamn the meanies are a culprit. Good goddamn Jared Leto is a culprit, but great goddamn my DNA’s a culprit.
Light this joint with these bongos.
The ignorant things that we do and the genius they’re spun into.
The earth below conceived as mud---paint it into the sky above.
Legitimate, illiterate, what we forgot is what we get.
Fuck your technique, your palette---fuck your tiresome “development.”
This is a storied story of a storied story written to fit. No special circumstance but one that requires a story written to fit. A man---a “meta meta meta” man---and he fits. This is the storied portrait of a man who’s armed with ignorant art. This is the storied portrait you pissing on the glass ceiling of art. No arms but ashy arms. No black arms but these arms and that’s “art.” This is the storied vinyl of the CD single transferred to tape. An analog of a dialogue of a sambionic monologue on tape. That’s a “1” or “ 0” escaping through the field to the house, and that’s tape. This is the storied video of tits and ass and horse that’s jazz. The juke joint, the liquor store---what “walking the bar” is for---and that’s jazz. The stories lost in stories---boring stories about stories---about jazz. The human condition---a brutal condition, a savage condition.
Dirty little girl.
Dirty business caught on tape.
I downloaded it.
PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN 3
See Pirates 3?
If Depp was a man, we'd fuck.
But I hear he's French.
Fat gay man designs.
Food falls into fat, gay mouths.
I’m finite, violent.
“All that hate will burn you up, boy.”“It’s that hate that keeps me warm.” “How old’s your wife?” “80 years old.” Q: “How old are you?” A: “80 years old.” Q: “What’s up your ass?” A: “Don’t you say ass---boy, I’ll kill you!" "What you said, boy---it was wrong, boy.” Q: “What did I do girl, what did I do?” “I was a partisan. Now I’m a policeman. Castro, Cuba, Angola, and Burma.“ Moscow bread-riot = Warsaw bread-riot. Warsaw hate-fuck = Moscow hate-fuck.
I say, “Problem! My MF-ing name is Rob Lowe,
And when I see I a problem I solve ‘em, especially when my name is Rob Lowe.”
You and me and her and him are on the fast track. Listen closely to my Simple Mind---let’s smoke this joint and dissect John Hughes. Whatever happened to the Brat Pack? Whatever happened to those sad sacks? Me and Judd Nelson in a blowjob race and I preserved the money shot on tape. I’ma see if I and she can count to 15. Methamphetamine and alcohol and the law ain’t know what the law ain’t saw. I’ma see if you can get with dirty scenes, adult themes. Do you know the Body is an archetype but what’s cumming out of me ain’t an archetype? I see your body is next to mine in the way my mother is in my mind. Give me a couple seconds to elaborate. Give me a couple seconds to self-stimulate. Perhaps you’ve tasted the fruit of the vine? Perhaps you’re born of the second sex as I was born of the third sex? This is called polymorphous perverse: my right hand up your brother’s skirt. Perhaps I’m born of the fourth sex.
What if an actress
wasn't as good at acting
as some thought she was?
SISSY SPACEK (lyrics)
Gonna sing about what I’m about. Gonna be about what I’m about.
Telekinetic---getting something from nothing.
It gets frentic---getting something from nothing.
This is the what? This is the cut. This is the RRRRRROOOOW! This is the how. This is the WHOOOOOOP! This is the truth. This is the HEEEEEEEE! This sounds like me. This is the bass. This is the taste. This is the RRRRRIP. This is the slip. This is the fifth. This is the fist. This is the sigh. This is the lie. “Though shalt not suffer a witch to live...Lie with a beast and be put to death.” (Exodus 22:18-19) And that pig’s blood came down in a red flood!
SISSY SPACEK (haiku)
Celebrate pig's blood.
A stand-in for menstruation.
A TIME TO KILL
Watched A Time to Kill.
Broadcast station TNT.
It was not so good.
WALK THE LINE
If it looks like Ray...
If it acts and sounds like Ray...
Then surely it's Ray.
Damn fool McNutty.
Talkin' 'bout jurisdictions.
Summarize that shit!